The West Son of Krypton
by SpritelyGryffindor
Summary: I was born as a big ball of energy, fed by yellow sun, with the potential to move worlds. I channeled that power and found a force, a speed force. It swallowed me up and shaped me into who—or what—I am now. I told the strangers who found me that an experiment gave me my powers. I lied. No one can ever know that I, Wally, am cut from the same cloth as the man of steel.
1. Chapter 1

**I know I have other stories I need to finish, but this idea has been bugging me for a couple years now and it's begging to be written. Tell me what you think. The beginning is a little slow but there's a lot of info to cover. I promise it picks up next chapter.**

I heard my alarm go off and sighed before wrestling an arm out of my thick sleeping bag and turning it off. Cold air hit sleeved my arm, instantly raising goose bumps despite the protection of my hoodie. I didn't cover it back up though, if I did then I would get all cozy and fall back asleep.

With a groan I wrestled myself out of my sleeping bag. It was pitch dark, as the sun hadn't risen yet, and I had to fumble around for the small lamp that was on the floor. It clicked on and illuminated the small section of the church attic that I slept in. It was more of a storage room than anything, but I didn't mind; it was a safe place to sleep, even if I only ever slept here for a couple hours a night, and the nuns would even feed me if I set up for morning mass and helped with the cleaning.

I rubbed my arms, trying to warm them back up before I found my shoes and slipped them on. I didn't need to get dressed, the chill after leaving my sleeping bag in the mornings was enough to make me sleep in my clothes, so I wouldn't have to lose precious body heat getting dressed in the morning.

I pulled a pair of fingerless gloves onto my hands and flattened my short red hair with my fingers. Then I dug around for some of the food I'd hidden to appease my already rumbling stomach. I got through three peanut butter sandwiches and a banana before I had to downstairs to ease my constant hunger before it was time for me to start working.

I wandered down to the church and instantly got to work setting up for first mass. As the morning matured various members of the congregation would pass me and greet me in Dutch. I would reply with simple words that I could pronounce well and they often left it at that. They assumed that I wouldn't be able to understand them anyway, being an English speaker. They don't know that I understand a lot more than I can speak.

The time I took setting things up passed slowly, since my stomach was rumbling, but after an hour and a half of work Sister Maria came up and said: "It's time for breakfast, Daan."

They called me Daan here, since it was the name I'd given them. None of them knew my real name or how I ended up here, which is just the way I liked it. Sometimes I felt like a criminal in an old-time story, claiming sanctuary in a church to avoid my pursuers. I wasn't a criminal though, I just needed a place to hide. This place was perfect, mostly because it was the first place I'd found where the adults would let me stay _without_ turning me into the police. Some would call it irresponsible but I called it handy.

I went to the breakfast table to eat with the sisters. The priest didn't join us, as he preferred to spend his mornings in solitude, preparing for mass, so it was just the five of us: me, Sister Mila, Sister Noor, Sister Sophia, and Sister Maria.

We didn't talk much as we ate our porridge and fruit, but Sister Noor, an old lady with an angry face, sniffed as I scooped out a second bowl of porridge for myself.

_Here we go again, _I thought dejectedly, waiting for the reprimand.

"Really, the boy hasn't been up long enough to work up such an appetite," said Sister Noor. She gave me a look to ensure that I knew she was talking about me. It wasn't necessary, since I knew most of the words she spoke, but my Dutch just wasn't good enough for me to reply. I kept eating, pretending I was oblivious.

Sister Noor had had it out for me since the day we met. I had run too many miles on too little food and my stomach was beginning to eat itself. I was so desperate for sustenance that I didn't even pay attention to where I was I just followed the smell of food cooking and the next thing I knew I was in the church kitchen with an empty pot of stew in front of me. Sister Noor was the first to find me and she had been all for calling the police, but Father Alexander had insisted that I was a misguided child in need of help and offered to let me stay on the conditions that I helped out around the church and didn't steal from the kitchen again. Naturally, Mrs. Noor had watched the pantry—and me—like a hawk ever since. This made it all the harder for me to hide my…abilities.

"He's a growing boy, it's normal for his age," said Sister Mila serenely.

My green eyes connected with her warm brown ones for a brief second and I instantly felt less tense. Sister Mila was my favorite; she had been right behind Father Alexander when he suggested I stay and had done everything she could to help me settle in.

"We've had to increase how much food we've been buying since he came," said Sister Noor.

"Naturally, having a new resident will do that," replied Sister Mila.

"He does eat quite a lot though," said Sister Maria. "Its almost…gulzigheid."

I frowned slightly.

I didn't know what that word meant, but it didn't sound good, given her tone.

"I think it's because he misses dinner, since he goes to work every night," said Sister Sophia.

"That's another thing, who would hire a child to work in the afternoons and evenings? It doesn't make sense. He's always out late," said Sister Maria. She made another comment after that but I couldn't quite understand it.

"That's enough now," said Sister Sophia at last, "we agreed that, while we don't know why he was sent to us, Daan is here for a reason," she said firmly.

The other nuns grew quiet at that, though Sister Mila smiled softly as she looked at the porridge pot.

"Ah, there is so little left, it would be a waste to take up fridge space storing it, eat child," she said before spooning me a third bowl of porridge.

I smiled at her and thanked her in my very best Dutch.

"You are welcome, Daan," she said kindly.

I smiled brighter, and finished eating.

After the tense breakfast was over I sat through the first church service, as was expected of me, though it was very hard for me. When I was growing up, the people around me thought I had ADHD, but in reality I have super speed. I know it sounds impossible, or like some kind of metaphor, but it's true, and as you can imagine, having a supercharged body makes it hard to sit still at times. I drummed my fingers and tried to entertain myself by honing my super hearing—another power of mine—in on the various sounds around me. Heart beats, organ strings, and vocal chord vibrations filled my ears as I played my little game. I would have done these focusing tricks with my eyes too, but I haven't been able to ever since—

_Don't think about it._

I stood up and left for the bathroom. As I said, my attention span couldn't take sitting still too long, especially with all the things I was trying not to think about.

After the service was finally over and the second service was ready to begin, I went out to run some errands that the Sister Maria had assigned me. The errands mostly consisted of assisting different people around the tiny township outside of Amsterdam. It was a small community in the Netherlands, but not so small that people would ask too many questions about who I was, which was fine for my purposes.

My errand today was to help out Mr. Doete, a brilliant old man whose not-so-brilliant-but-almost-as-old wheelchair made it almost impossible for him to do yard work. I walked two miles through the cold to get to Mr. Doete's house, though instead of feeling dread for the upcoming labor, I was excited. Mr. Doete spoke the Queen's English as fluently as a native, and I was happy to have someone I could actually _speak_ with, even though that meant he could peg me as an American.

The long walk to Mr. Doete's passed quickly and when I got there I went straight to his garage to get his rake out. I pulled the trashcans to the yard after that and immediately got started. Five minutes later Mr. Doete wheeled himself out his front door and down the ramp. He was wrapped up in heavy winter gear and a blanket so big that it was in danger of snagging on the wheels of his chair, but he come nevertheless. Mr. Doete always came out to talk when I was doing yard work. I sometimes wondered if he really should though. There were some days where Mr. Doete looked kind of sick, and today was one of those days.

"Hello, Daan," he said.

"Hi, Mr. Doete," I said breathing out the words like a sigh of relief.

_English_ at last!

"I saw you sneak off to the bathroom _twice_ during mass earlier today, were you really so bored?" he demanded, humor in his voice.

"Well, my Dutch isn't the best so it's hard to keep up sometimes," I said as I grabbed some leaves and threw them away.

The man shook his head.

"When I was your age, I knew three languages! _Three_. What on earth are they teaching you in those American schools?"

"How to annoy old guys from the Europe," I replied, biting my tongue so I wouldn't tell him that I was already fluent in _two_ aside from Dutch.

"You are a bratty child, so cheeky," he laughed, before snatching some leaves off the ground and throwing them at me.

I laughed and Mr. Doete chuckled, though it turned into a cough.

"Are you catching a cold, Mr. Doete?" I asked, looking at him and noticing once again that he looked a little sick.

"No, I'm just feeling a tired this morning," said Mr. Doete.

I frowned. Mr. Doete was never one to complain about anything. If he said he was tired, he was probably feeling really ill.

"Why don't you go inside? It's cold out today," I said.

"Don't worry about me, boy. I can take care of myself," he snorted.

I dropped the topic, though my stomach gave a weird twist. I sighed and tried to think of other things. My thoughts ended up wandering to the word the sisters had used earlier at the table. I wonder if I could ask Mr. Doete its meaning? He would surely explain it to me.

"What's on your mind, Daan?" asked the man, breaking the silence.

I paused for a moment before I asked: "What does gulzigheid mean?"

The man raised an eyebrow. Clearly I'd butchered the pronunciation but he seemed to get the point.

"Gulzigheid? It means glutton, why?" he asked.

"Oh," I said as the word clicked, then I frowned.

"Who called you a glutton?" asked Mr. Doete, "One of the sisters?"

"Yea," I said with a shrug. "I've been going through a growth spurt and they've apparently never seen a pre-teen boy eat before."

"Pay them no mind," he said kindly. "They do not like things they don't understand and you are quite the mystery. An American showing up out of nowhere with no place to go except a mysterious night job?"

"And don't tell me you're helping an elderly woman, we all know it isn't true," said Mr. Doete as I opened my mouth to argue.

I sighed.

"You would think that my being a bad liar would make them chill out," I grumbled.

The man chuckled at my use of the phrase "chill out.

"American slang!" he shook his head. "But really, son, you may be a bad liar, but you are still a liar." He said it calmly, in a non-judgmental way, but I still felt awkward and I leaned over to pick up some leaves so I wouldn't have to respond.

"Is sister Sophia still on you about studying arithmetic and Dutch?" he asked.

"Well, sort of. She leaves me to self study a lot and quizzes me periodically but since I'm already more advanced than her in math—don't tell her I said that—and I'm already trying to learn Dutch there isn't much for her to do. Luckily none of them have tried to send me to school—yet," I said.

Mr. Doete didn't respond to that, but gave a sudden grunt.

"You okay?" I asked turning around to face him fully.

"Just heart burn, must be something I ate," he mumbled.

"Do you want me to get you some medicine?" I asked.

"No," Mr. Doete said, looking confused. "No it..it doesn't feel like something heart burn medicine would help, it's more of a…"

He paused and rubbed his chest, looking slightly disoriented.

"Mr. Doete?" I asked putting down the rake, my face scrunching in confusion and concern.

Mr. Doete wheezed, "Daan," before slumping over in his wheelchair.

I froze for less than a second as I paused to listen. It was like zooming with a camera, I listened to the whole picture, then honed in on Mr. Doete, trying to hear his heart and lungs. There was nothing.

I sprinted for the neighbor's house so fast it was _almost_ unbelievable and I pounded on the door as hard as I could, my finger pressing the doorbell in ten times in rapid succession.

An irritated man answered the door after twenty seconds. He looked furious but I started babbling in broken Dutch.

"Mr. Doete..hurt…" I said pointing to the place where he was slumped in his wheelchair. "Phone, the hospital! Phone the hospital! Mr. Doete hurt!" I babbled.

A woman came up behind him.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"This kid is telling me something about Mr. Doete needing a hospital, but he's right there!" said the guy pointing at Mr. Doete's wheelchair, which was facing away from us. They couldn't see that he wasn't sitting up straight.

The wife however was looking at me, at the fear in my face.

"Call an ambulance," she told her husband before moving out the door and hurried towards Mr. Doete. I followed, barely restraining myself from switching into super speed. She took his pulse as soon as we got to him.

"Out, out," I said, ripping away the blanket from Mr. Doete's legs and unbuckling his seatbelt. I already _knew_ that there was no pulse and we had to _move._

The woman seemed to get what I was saying and we both lifted him out of his wheelchair and onto the ground. I started CPR immediately. The woman said something I couldn't understand and left. I panicked for a minute before realizing she was probably going for help. I looked around as I did chest compressions and saw her knocking frantically on a door down the street.

Things were a blur of fear from there. I felt Mr. Doete's ribs break as I continued CPR and I nearly threw up as the things I tried not to think about flew to the front of my mind.

_Mom was on the floor in the upstairs hallway, and her eyes were wide open. Her clothes were spattered with blood and it took me a minute to realize that some was coming from her mouth. I ripped her shirt open and strapped the defibrillator pads to her. I heard "shock advised" so many times, but I kept trying. I wanted to call for help, but I couldn't. The number one rule at my house was no doctors. Mom had told me that this would happen. Mom had told me that when the time came and home care wasn't enough any more that me and Dad would have to let her go. Dad. I sobbed as I saw him, lying on the floor. There was no help for him, not even if I could call a doctor. A bullet through the heart is a pretty clear sign that you're not gonna be okay. _

I was crying by the time the neighbor came back with a defibrillator. She seemed to fumble with it as she tried to set it up so I yanked it from her hands and set it up instantly with the ease of practice. I tried not to think about the fact that I'd done the same thing for mom two months ago.

_But it won't work, _I thought miserably as I pushed the shock button. I was so convinced of this that I was shocked when I heard a pulse come from Mr. Doete's heart. I blinked in amazement just as the sound of an ambulance met my ears.

Things continued to happen after that and I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. The medics took Mr. Doete away and left me standing there with the neighbor lady and everyone else who had come out of their homes to see what was going on.

The woman's husband came and took the defibrillator, while the woman herself picked up Mr. Doete's blanket off the ground and wrapped it around my shoulders.

"Come, child," she said softly before leading me away.

I obliged, feeling too numb and sick to oppose much of anything. In retrospect I think I was probably in some kind of shock.

The lady drove me back to the church in her car. Sister Mila patted my hair once she heard what had happened and led me to a pew. She led a prayer for half an hour while I tried to stop shaking.

. . . . . . . . . . .

The hours after the incident went by like a dream, blurred and garbled. Sister Sophia suggested that I call in sick for my "night job" because I looked unwell. I denied this. I needed clarity; I needed my city.

When the time came I changed into black clothes and grabbed a backpack. As usual I used my hearing to make sure I wasn't going to cross paths with anyone on my way out.

Once outside I pulled on a cap to hide my hair and a pair of goggles to cover my eyes. I tensed my legs, and I ran.

I ran over land and then over the ocean. I was fast enough that water just felt like a different kind of running surface. My feet moved across it like skipping stones as I headed towards a new land.

It took me a bit over a half an hour to get to London from the Netherlands, and when I did I felt calmer. This was my place, the place I'd claimed as my own since arriving in Europe. Maybe it was the fact that citizens of this city spoke English for the most part, or maybe it was the comfort of having so many people to cloak my presence. Either way London just felt _right. _

It was a place that didn't seem like it needed a lot of help when you looked at it on television, but then, shows like "Fabulous Flats and Houses" don't show the slums, do they? And the glimmering pictures of the English Channel don't mention the boats that come in with dangerous, black market items. That's what I was here for. Ever since I've seen the hidden slime underneath the London sparkle, I'd wanted to help.

Of course, I didn't dive right in when I got there, in fact, I used all my skill and speed to avoid cameras and people so I could make it to my hideout without any tag-alongs or suspicions.

I managed to zip to the shifty, abandoned, building that I had claimed as my London hideout relatively quickly and entered through a broken window. I heard the heartbeat of a hobo that lived here coming from the floors above, but I didn't feel threatened. The man had made his nest upstairs and hadn't come anywhere near the boiler room as of yet. He didn't know I was sharing the building with him so he didn't have reason to anyway, so it all worked out.

I made my way deep into the building, towards an ominous, filthy basement that had been untouched by squatters. There was a supply closet in the boiler room that was large enough to fit me laying down, once I'd moved the stuff out of there anyway. That was my base of operations.

I squeezed into the closet once I reached it and shut the door before turning on the camping lamp that I'd placed in there. After that I hurriedly ate my way through five cans of tuna, several packs of crackers, a jar of peanut butter, three cans of fruit, and two jars of pickles before I felt settled enough to sleep.

My dreams weren't nice though. They almost never are.

I woke up after the sunset, past eleven. Some would think it strange for me to sleep so long during the day, but I tended to treat the afternoon hours as nighttime hours so I could sleep before patrol. I mainly used my space in the church for a quick, after patrol, nap and the promise of breakfast and lunch. The church also helped me set up a daytime identity, a place where I could be seen without worry of recognition. It was a practically a vacation compared to _here_. Here there were slums, and mobs, and shady harbors, unofficially dedicated to underhanded deals. There are a couple almost-vigilantes here that help, but none of them have the flair of a superhero. That was up to me. I'd been patrolling here for a month and a half and I like to think I've helped. There's been a lot of trial and error though and I've had to dodge the Justice League (The real, _professional_, superheroes) whenever they came here on a mission. Thankfully, that's only happened twice—at least to my knowledge.

I left my little closet and stretched for a bit before grabbed my backpack. I was ready to go.

I ran through the city, stopping only to grab four hamburgers from a late night chain, and made it to one of my watch points. I looked up the side of the building as I swallowed the last burger and hesitated.

I didn't have a grappling hook to climb up buildings the way Batman did, and I couldn't fly like Superman, but I _could_ run up the sides of buildings. Of course, it took a bit of trial and error: my first time I accidentally put my foot through a window and about killed myself in the subsequent fall. After that some lady found me, freaked out, and chucked me I her car so she could drop me off at the nearest clinic. This led to me having to wait for them to treat me so I could move around enough destroy all the blood samples they took from me and make my escape, which is why I was hesitating now. I knew that I _could_ run up the side of the building, it wasn't all that tall, but when I remembered all the pain I had to go through on my first attempts I always paused.

_Don't chicken out, what would Flash do?_

I sighed at the old form of self-goading and decided to dive in.

I doubled back several blocks before I sprinted forward, charging up the side of the building. The moment I went sideways was always the worst because I felt like I was just going to keep tipping backwards (which had happened before) but I kept moving my feet and I reached the top just fine.

"In your face, gravity," I muttered in satisfaction before settling down to listen.

It took me a minute to settle in and another to _really _attune my ears to the sounds around me. I have a variable radius when it comes to my super hearing. In the country I can hear for miles in the quiet, but the city was different, especially a city as large as London. I had decided to scope out the slums tonight, as I did most nights. It never ceased to amaze me how different this area of town was from the bustling city shown on postcards and television. All the houses were tiny, one floor, and shakily built. They were crowded together too, which tended to cause a lot of problems, so I came here and perched on the top of one of the few _solid_ buildings in the area, waiting.

I didn't for listen for words—those were too hard to distinguish on a large scale—but for tones. I heard soft voices and sad cries, angry yells and loud laughter. I didn't hear the undertone I was looking for, but with enough patience I probably would. I dug around the backpack I'd brought and pulled out a paper and pencil and started writing. As I mentioned before my attention span is poor, and I needed something to do with my hands as I waited for the action to start. I didn't do anything too involved, I just sat and made lists of trivial things I'd memorized. US capitals, the periodic table of elements, my times tables, and anything else I could think of.

I had regressed to doodling when I heard a scream with the underlying tone I'd been listening for. You see, to my ears, when a person is feeling real, true, fear, there was a change in their voice. It was subtle but it was _there_, a hidden note of that signaled danger.

The scream was angry, a woman's, and was coming from half a mile away. I immediately stood up, threw my things in my backpack, and took off towards the noise.

I ran down the building and through the slums, towards the commotion.

It was a stereotypical scene, a car was parked near a shady alleyway and a drunken moron was trying to pull a young woman into his car.

"C'mon, sweetheart, I got cash. I'll treat you real nice!"

"I'm not a prostitute! Let me go!" said the woman, kicking at the man's legs.

The woman didn't know how to kick in a way that would cause any damage though and the guy just laughed at her attempt at fighting, continuing to pull her to his car.

I grabbed a taser from my backpack and swooped into the scene. I materialized in front of the thug and nailed him. He yelled and collapsed onto the sidewalk. The woman stared at him for a moment, then at me. She stumbled back, in disbelief, then turned around and ran away.

I shrugged and turned to the man that was groaning on the sidewalk. I rolled him onto his side in case he puked or something and as I did I noticed a square bulge and in back pocket. I grabbed reached into the pocket and snared the wallet concealed inside. I opened it up with a raised eyebrow and saw a bunch of British pounds. A quick calculation told me there was the equivalent of a few hundred US dollars in the wallet.

_Huh, guess he really was trying to buy a prostitute._

I took two thirds of the money in the wallet before slipping it back into the man's pocket. I left after that. I didn't call the police. I did on occasion, but a quick listen to my surroundings before I ran off told me that the neighbors had that covered. I was glad, because I didn't want to leave too many traces, and reports of an American kid calling the police at a bunch of different crime scenes was likely to draw attention.

When I was a respectable distance away I counted the money I'd borrowed from the man.

_Five pounds short of two hundred. Not bad, that should cover me for a little bit until the next black market bust._

I know what you're thinking. Superheros shouldn't steal, right? Well it's not like I steal from _everyone_, just people that are trying to hurt other people and can spare the money. I didn't take from poor crooks because I didn't want to make them desperate enough to hurt people for money, but guys like the one tonight, that have more than enough and are using it for things like prostitutes? I didn't mind taking from them. I mean, heroes have to eat, and it's basically instant karma…right?

I pretended not to notice the guilty, dirty, feeling that got worse and worse every time I used this logic, and put the money away. Heroes need to eat, after all, and I'd need some new running shoes soon, too.

Not long after the first emergency of the night I got lucky when some creep tried to kidnap me. He had fifty-two pounds in his pocket, but more importantly the cops had been trying to track him down for a while. This time it _was_ appropriate to call the police as a kid. I used my best London accent (which sounded a lot more realistic when the sound effects of fake-sobs covered up the exaggerated annunciation) and told the police that some creep had tried to kidnap me. The police came not long after and hauled off the unconscious man as I watched from a rooftop. I smirked, before running off to refuel again.

I was trying to think of the best place to buy food from when I heard sirens.

I stared at the sidewalk, listening hard.

_Let's see, one fire truck, not two, wait, three!_

_Oh no_, I groaned inside my head.

With dread in my heart I ran towards the scene, hoping it was something minor and was mostly wrapped up. It's not that I didn't want to help, I just…was _really_ bad with fires. I mean _really _bad. The first time that I tried to help with a fire, I'd run inside the building too fast and my body needed more air than my smoky surroundings could provide. I passed out and some civilian carried me out. The next thing I knew I woke up with an oxygen mask on my face. I escaped a trip to the hospital by physically fighting my way out of the medics' care and running off. I still feel bad about that, because I shoved this really nice guy into a mud puddle when I was trying to get him to back off.

The second time I tried to help with a fire things went even _more_ horribly. I had found an unconscious woman and hadn't been strong enough to get her out. I'd dragged her part way when I realized that I'd need to carry her over debris. I'd frozen up, afraid to leave her side but unable to _get_ her _out. _I'd been reduced to screaming for help until a fireman came and dragged us _both _out of there.

The third time was probably my most successful attempt, but it wasn't without its casualties. I'd been evacuating some children that had gotten trapped in a childrens' home fire. I was carrying out the last kid, who was probably like, five when the stairs collapsed in front of me and I was forced to jump out a window. Normally I'd have run down the side of the building after that but I was forced to simply drop to the ground because of all the flames coming out of the windows below me. As a result I'd had to convert the momentum from our fall into a shield-like aura. It shouldn't have been a problem, as I did it naturally when I was running to protect myself from the high velocity and any potential impact, but I'd never tried to use it to cover anyone else but me before.

I had tried my hardest, I really had, but we landed at the wrong angle and next thing I knew the boy was holding his broken ankle and screaming. He was fine otherwise but his ankle…

I swallowed at the memory.

This was my fourth attempt at helping with a fire, and to be honest, I was _terrified._

I found myself on the scene a moment later, looking at a flaming apartment building.

_Great._

I listened for people and I heard at least three inside the building. The firemen were only just arriving and the fire was _bad_.

I glanced up, and saw a man holding his baby out the window, screaming for the firemen to hurry up with the ladder. The kid was unconscious, suspended four stories above the ground by the terrified father. I swore and sprinted as fast as I could. Flames were coming out of the side of the building, but I couldn't afford to hesitate the way I did earlier. I ran up the side, wincing as part of the wall caved under my foot. I managed to step away in time but I nearly lost momentum completely when I swerved sideways to avoid a flame. I barely made it up and when I did it was all I could do to snatch the kid from the father's arms.

I dropped down after that, running down the side of the building, baby in arms. A burst of flames shot out in front of me when I had about a story to go and I had no choice but to launch myself through the air. My biggest fear as I controlled my descent was that I was going to hurt the kid when I landed. I curled around the baby as tightly as I could… and then, suddenly, gravity vanished.

My eyes grew wide as a pair of arms wrapped around me and lowered me to the ground. There was a moment when no one moved and when I looked up my knees nearly gave out.

Superman. _The_ Superman, was floating in front of me.

"Wait here," he instructed me before flying off to save the people in the building.

The crowd paused, then as if they'd planned it, began to scream and chant Superman's name in an adoring chorus, which shocked me out of my freeze-up. I ran the kid over to the medics and they took over. Then I ran as far away from the scene as humanly possible, not stopping to drop my stuff back at my hideout. I had to get _out_ of London.

I ran through England until I reached the ocean and I sprinted across. I ran and ran until my body started to lag. I paused after reaching the shores of the Netherlands and pulled some food out of my backpack. I ate all that was in there as I looked out at the water. My heart was still pounding as if the man of steel had physically _chased _me out of London and I sat down to catch my breath.

_What is he doing here? Why did he tell me to stay there? Does he know? Well he _must_, the entire crowd saw me run up that building. Yet again they wouldn't have known it was me if Superman hadn't grabbed me. To them I would have just been a black blur. _

I grimaced, unhappy with the idea of being seen in real-time by so many people.

_And their cameras too, probably. Crap!_

I bit my lip.

_No biggie, just lie low for a couple of days. It'll be fine._

I took a breath to keep calm.

_It'll work out, it will._

I rubbed at my face and paused when I felt a smear.

_Ash, _I realized, _from the building. _

Idipped my hands into the cold ocean water. It was icy, but refreshing. I scrubbed my face as clean as I could and by the time I was done I felt calmer. I stood up and turned towards the direction of the church. It was time to swap out lives, to hang up the goggles and tackle my Super-Wally problems later, the next time I was in London. I had Daan problems now. I needed to visit Mr. Doete in the hospital and make sure he was—alive. I frowned. I'd been trying to keep Mr. Doete off my mind all night, but I suppose I couldn't hide from it forever. Still, if he wasn't going to get better—

_One step at a time_. I told myself.

I sighed and began to run again. I was still hungry, but I had some food left in my room. It would be fine.

I slipped onto the church ground and frowned when I saw a light on in the kitchen. I listened but I didn't hear anything except for the sounds of pages turning, and the sound was coming from the nuns' quarters, not the kitchen.

I snuck into the room and shut the lights off, thinking one of the sisters had forgotten, and went upstairs to my attic space.

When I got there I set my backpack down on the floor and headed straight for one of my food hiding places, only to find they were empty. I tensed and searched through all the places I might have hidden my snacks.

There was nothing.

I swore in my head, one of the nuns must have found my stash, and did some calculations.

In this town the only stores open this late were gas stations, and they had a really crappy selection of food, barely worth the energy of _running _there, never mind running back. I checked again for my food but it wasn't there.

I was trying to figure out what to so when I heard footsteps on the stairs. I honed in my hearing and listened.

"Sister Noor, surely this can wait until morning!"

"I heard him come in, I know he's up here and he will answer for what I found."

I realized that Sister Mila and Sister Noor were coming up.

"I think you're overreacting, it was just a few snacks!"

"He had can of pepper spray hidden in his room! I want an explanation!"

The two entered my view and Sister Noor's eyes narrowed.

"We've come to talk to you, Daan," said Sister Mila tiredly. Clearly she'd been kept up far later than usual as a result of sister Noor's complaints. "Sister Sophia stopped in to see if you were back from your job at around eleven, but you weren't. You usually get off at ten so we were really concerned."

I winced. I'd had a running charade I'd pull once a week, where I'd come back to the church about just after the majority of the nuns went to bed. There would always be at least one person up though so I'd say goodnight to them and pretend to go to upstairs to sleep so they wouldn't suspect that I was gone all night.

I had occasionally worried that one of the sisters might come check on me but it'd never happened before now.

_Then again it's not every day you watch someone have a heart attack. _I thought dryly.

I was about to respond when sister Noor wrinkled her nose.

"You smell like an ashtray, child, where have you been?" she demanded.

I hesitated and she stepped forward, only to trip on the backpack I'd left on the floor.

"Ah! What's in here? More food that you've hoarded?

I went pale as she opened the bag. Her brow furrowed and she reached in and pulled out my taser.

"What is this?!" she shrieked.

She glared at it.

"This is a weapon! What on Earth have you been…"

She paused, set down the taser on a broken table, and reached into a bag. To my dismay she pulled out the wad of cash I'd earned—well, stolen—over the past few days.

She glared at the money.

"What have you been up to?" she hissed and even Sister Mila looked shocked.

"Nothing, I just—" I tried to explain but I didn't know how.

"These weapons, and this money…what have you been doing? Have you been robbing people?"

Sister Mila snorted.

"Daan would not do that, and that's English money. He probably has had that since before he got here," said Sister Mila, remaining calm.

"Then why the taser, why the pepper spray?"

"He's a young boy, traveling alone, why wouldn't he have those things?" asked Sister Mila.

"He's—" sister Noor started.

"Let us ask him," Sister Mila said shortly before turning to me.

"Daan," she said softly. "Why to you have that?" she asked, pointing to the taser.

"Safe," I mumbled in Dutch. My hands were sweating and I was nervous.

"It keeps you safe?" asked Sister Mila kindly.

I nodded.

"Where did you get the money?" she asked next.

"Work," I muttered, blushing.

"And what do you do for work Daan?" demanded Sister Noor.

"Sister, please."

"No, Sister Mila, too many things about this child just don't add up. He will explain where he goes at night."

Sister Mila turned to me and repeated the question. I stood there, completely lost on how to explain my situation without giving too much away in _English_, which made doing the same task in Dutch seem ridiculous.

"He doesn't understand," said Sister Mila as I continued to stare.

"Then _make_ him, I need to know if he's stealing or not.

I gulped.

Sister Mila turned to me and said: "Did you steal the money, Daan?"

I wanted to say no, really, but as I looked into the face of Sister Mila I couldn't find the words to. She'd been nothing but kind to me this whole time and when she looked me in the eyes and asked for the truth I had an epiphany. I could lie now, and feel like a scumbag about it, or I could trust in honesty. I gulped and looked at Sister Mila.

"Took money—from bad men. Not good men."

Sister Mila took a deep breath.

"What do you mean, Daan? What did those men make you do for that money?" asked Sister Mila, looking horrified.

I backtracked.

"No, no, they didn't I just took—"

"So you did steal it!" said Sister Noor, looking enraged. "I knew it!" and then she started ranting in Dutch, but the words were too quick for me to process in normal speed. As she was talking I shook my head, trying to tell her she was wrong.

"You did understand the question, didn't you, Daan?" Sister Mila whispered.

Tears filled my eyes and she knew that I had.

She sighed.

We both looked up and saw Sister Noor heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" asked sister Mila.

"To call the police, Daan has been far too coddled by you and the others. He needs someone to straighten him out."

"Sister Mila, please, we did not hear his side of the story!"

"A thief is a thief! He cannot live here anymore, I will make sure of it!" she called before she slipped away.

I heard her march away and I felt panic and sadness fill me.

"Why, Daan?" asked Sister Mila sounding so disappointed that my heart broke.

"I—they were bad men, so I took it."

"It is still wrong," said Sister Mila.

I looked at my shoes.

"Will they really make me leave?" I asked, frantically.

"They will take you to jail, possibly," said Sister Mila, looking concerned.

I blanched and started glancing around the room, desperate to run.

Sister Mila watched me and wavered for a moment before putting a hand on my shoulder.

She took a deep breath.

"I may be wrong, but I think there is more to your situation than you can tell us."

I nodded, again.

"I want to say, but can't," I said, trying to make her understand.

Sister Mila looked up to the ceiling, then to me.

"Come with me," she said quietly as put my stuff back into my bag and handed it to me.

I looked at her in disbelief and she looked at me sadly. I didn't ask questions, I only followed her. Sister Mila skillfully lead me out of the building and onto the grass outside.

We both stood there for a moment and I watched Sister Mila, who was looking at the stars.

"I know you're not a bad boy, Daan. You may have made a mistake and you must leave because of it but I have not lost faith in you, dear child. You are the one who saved Mr. Doete. You are a good person, may you find a path that allows that side of you to grow." She swallowed.

"You deserve a chance to make up for your mistakes, whatever they may be. So go free, and do right by yourself and by the lord. No more bad things, no more stealing."

Her eyes watered and she looked at me.

"I have faith in you and I will pray for you, bless you, child," she told me, her eyes watering.

"You too," I whispered.

Sister Mila squeezed my shoulder again but paused when we heard a noise from inside.

"Go now," she whispered.

I turned and ran away at normal speed. Soon I was far enough away that I could kick into super speed. I sprinted towards the only place I could think to go, trying to escape the sick feeling in my heart.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up on an old couch that had flowers on the fabric and spent five whole minutes, trying not to start off my day with a full blown melt-down as I remembered everything that had occurred the precious night.

_Shh, Wally. Stick to the plan, stick to the plan._

I chanted this in my head as I stumbled into the bathroom to get ready for the day. I had been too hungry, tired, and fearful of running into Superman to go back to London last night and had broken into Mr. Doete's house. I had tried not to take too much (just a box of noodles and a bit of fruit) before I showered and passed out on Mr. Doete's couch. I had made sure to change clothes so the smell of smoke wouldn't sink into the fabric of the sofa. I had washed my dirty stuff in Mr. Doete's laundry room because, let's face it, I'm not going to have easy access to one for a while now that I'd been thrown out of the church.

I rubbed my eyes and yawned as I left the bathroom. It was fairly early, a couple hours after I would typically get up to work at the church—my heart felt a pang at this—but I couldn't stick around too long since the police would be watching for me.

I cleaned up the house so that it was even neater than it had been when I arrived and left some Euros on the kitchen counter to pay for the food. I didn't have a lot of Euros, as most of my money was in pounds, but I had just enough to cover the food I'd taken from Mr. Doete and go and get breakfast from a bakery.

I moved quickly after I grabbed some food, making my way to the hospital where Mr. Doete was taken. I stopped into the gift shop and got him a funny card and a balloon. After that I went straight to the front desk.

I told the nurse on duty that I was Daan, Mr. Doete's grandson and Mr. Doete immediately allowed me into his room when the nurse told him who I was claiming to be.

"Hello, grandson," said Mr. Doete a bit mockingly in Dutch. As the nurse checked his stats. "Are those for me?"

I nodded and set the card on the bedside table and tied the balloon to his bed. I felt my heart break a bit for Mr. Doete when I realized that my gifts were the first he'd actually received since being brought to the hospital last night. The card and balloon looked lonely all by themselves in the stark hospital room.

The nurse left and Mr. Doete switched to English.

"Grandson, really? How old do you think I am!"

"Old enough to have invented the wheel, at least," I quipped with a smile. After everything that happened it was a relief to be able to see Mr. Doete was okay.

Mr. Doete laughed and gave me a swat.

"You little git!" he chuckled.

"London slang," I said shaking my head in an imitation of what he'd done yesterday when I'd said: "chill."

The man smiled.

"Well," said Mr. Doete. "Thanks for yesterday, Daan. The doctors say I wouldn't have made it if you hadn't gotten that defibrillator."

"That was all the neighbor," I said, blushing. "I just went to get help!"

"And you performed CPR _and_ you set up the defibrillator when Birtha fumbled with it."

"How—?" I asked.

He cracked a grin.

"Birtha—the neighbor you went to get—came to see me last night at the hospital.

I felt glad that _someone_ other than me had come, but I didn't really know what to say.

"She told me you know more than she does about first aid. You take classes or something, kid?"

"Yea," I said, remembering the lessons dad had given me when mom's health began to go downhill.

"Good for you, or rather, good for me."

"Will you be okay? I mean—"

"They're putting in a pacemaker tomorrow," said Mr. Doete. "After that I just need to watch my diet."

He smirked. "It isn't easy being old. Your body starts to quit on you after the first century or so."

"Well, discovering electricity really takes it out of you," I said seriously.

"Isn't it time for someone to change your diaper, squirt? You're reeking of yesterday's jokes."

"You _invented_ yesterday's jokes."

"Who told you that?" asked Mr. Doete.

"They teach it in American schools."

The two of us looked at each other, then we both started laughing.

"Oh, boy, I'm going to miss you," said Mr. Doete when he got his breath back.

"What?" I asked, the smile falling from my face.

Mr. Doete looked at me sadly.

"Sister Mila said you were skipping town. She told me what happened."

"It wasn't what it looked like!" I insisted.

Mr. Doete waved me off.

"I know that, Daan. You're too much of a softie to go around mugging people. You don't have to explain yourself to me."

I smiled gratefully and felt some tension leave my shoulders. As usual Mr. Doete wasn't judging me.

"You know, you can stay at my house, if you want," offered Mr. Doete.

"I kinda broke in there to sleep last night," I said sheepishly. "I didn't have anywhere else to go, so…Anyway I left some money on the counter for the food I took. I'm sorry, I should have asked but—"

Mr. Doete flapped a hand at me.

"Don't worry, I'm glad you stayed. I'd rather you break into my house than sleep on the street any time."

"Thanks," I said in relief.

Mr. Doete nodded.

"I meant it when I said you could stay, I've gotten kind of used to you hanging around."

He looked at me hopefully, but the both of us knew my response before I said it.

"Thank you for the offer, but I can't, not with the police looking for me," I said.

"You just said though that you have nowhere else to go!" exclaimed Mr. Doete.

"Sister Mila probably mentioned that my money was all English," I told Mr. Doete.

"You can't get all the way to England without the proper papers!" said Mr. Doete.

"Believe me, sir, I have my ways," I said seriously.

Mr. Doete studied me for a minute before sighing.

"You'd better send me a post card once you arrive, then. I refuse to let you leave this town without knowing that you'll be okay."

"Don't worry, I'll keep in touch," I assured him.

_For as long as I can, anyway._ I added in my head.

"See that you do," said Mr. Doete.

A nurse came in just then.

"Mr. Doete? It's time for your medication."

Mr. Doete sighed.

"Take care, son," he said.

I hugged him tightly and he patted my back.

"Bye, I'll keep in touch."

"You'd better you bloody brat, if you don't I'll have another heart attack," he let me go. "Now get going!" he commanded.

I smiled and walked past the confused nurse, who was clearly wondering we weren't speaking English, and left. It was time to leave this place once and for all.

I ran to London with a bittersweet feeling inside of me. I was still torn up over disappointing Sister Mila, but at least Mr. Doete didn't judge me for the things I'd done.

I frowned as I remembered the sad look on Sister Mila's face and wondered for a few minutes if I _deserved_ his kindness.

_Don't worry about it_. I told myself firmly. _What they think doesn't matter._

It was a lie, of course, but I repeated it to myself until I almost believed it was true.

I got to my hidden place in London, as usual, and squeezed into my little closet. I reached for my camp light in the dark, only for my hand to fall through the air and touch the floor. I frowned and felt around for it. Once my hand finally found it I turned it on. Light illuminated the room and an ominous feeling hit me.

Because I was fearful of intruders I was very specific about the way I arranged things, so I would know if someone broke in. My little room _seemed _normal, but I instantly noticed that one of my liters of water was missing. And it wasn't any of the unopened ones; it was one I'd been drinking out of. _The one that had the most of my DNA on it, _I realized, getting a chill.

I stood up.

I had to leave, _now_.

I grabbed everything my backpack and ran out of the closet and out of the building. I took off my goggles and cap in the alley outside and swapped my black hoodie for my green one. I had to look normal.

I walked rapidly away from the building, towards the fist bus stop I saw. I boarded and pulled my hoodie up. The bus drove away, only it went _towards_ the area of town I'd just left and not _away _from it. I nearly smacked myself for my inattention but decided there was nothing to do but lay low. Besides, maybe it was a good thing. If whoever broke into my hideout had set up camera's they would have seen me travel south. They wouldn't anticipate me doubling back and going north.

I watched the building I'd escaped as the bus went by it and saw something red flash by in my peripheral vision. I started and stared at the area near my old hide out, but I couldn't pinpoint what I'd seen, it had been too fast.

_You're paranoid, Wally, it was just your imagination._ I told myself.

I settled uneasily into my seat and took out my notebook. As the bus wound its way through the city I noted the addresses of every abandoned building I saw, trying to scope out where I should pick to be my new base. I took notes until some lady came and sat next to me, at which point I closed my notebook and got off the bus.

I wandered down the sidewalk and saw a shoe store. I reflexively checked the thickness of my sneakers. The soles only had a few miles left in them so I went inside.

"Hello," said the storekeeper reflexively when I entered. Then she paused and looked at me suspiciously when she noticed my age and the backpack I had on.

"Can I help you?" she asked, and I realized it was more of a question as to why I was there during a school day, by myself, then an offer to help.

I put on my most charming smile.

"Yes please! My mom's across the street at the café she sent me here to buy some running shoes for my first day of school tomorrow. We just moved here from New York," I said. I decided that the best card I could play was that of a foreigner. The last time I'd tried to play a native Londoner outside of my dramatized 911 calls (well, it was 999 in England, but I referred to it as 911 out of habit) the person I was talking to gave me an odd look and asked where my parents were from.

The woman's demeanor instantly changed.

"Oh, how exciting! I've always wanted to travel to New York. What's it like there?"

"A lot like here," I said drawing on the couple of days I'd spent in New York after I left home for inspiration. "Lots of touristy places. Traffic is a nightmare though."

The woman laughed.

"Oh, it's like that here too. I imagine all big cities have that problem."

I smiled.

"So, you wanted running shoes?" asked the woman raising an eyebrow at my battered sneakers.

I grinned, embarrassed.

"Yeah, these are really worn out. I do cross country."

"Good for you!" said the woman.

"Now, tell me, what size are you?"

I told her my shoe size and she took me over to look at all the different kinds before asking.

"How much did your mother give you to spend?"

I glanced the sneaker prices.

"Sixty-five pounds," I said confidently.

The woman nodded and pulled a couple from the shelves and had me try them on. I went with the most comfortable pair even though the color combination was a little odd and bought them. I asked the woman if I could wear the sneakers out of the shop and she nodded, offering to throw out my old ones. I took her up on her offer and left the shop, thanking the woman as she wished me luck with school.

I smiled at her at her one last time before crossing the street to go meet my "mother."

Only when I was out of sight did I allow the smile to drop from my face. It really hurt to pretend that my mother was still alive, but what choice did I have? If I played the whole "I'm fine on my own" card people would get suspicious. No, I was better off pretending that "Mummy and Daddy" were "just in the shop next door" waiting for me, even if it was painful.

I wandered into a restaurant after that and bought enough food to tie me over until I could reach a grocery store.

It was a sit down diner with cheap prices and I ordered Shepard's pie from a waiter who asked me why I wasn't in school. I spouted out the same lie I told the shoe saleswoman, only this time I said my mom was at a business meeting a couple blocks over and had given me some money for lunch. The waiter was a lot nicer after that and went to put my order in. I sat there, impatiently waiting for it to come while wondering darkly why people were so nosy.

I sighed internally and turned my attention to a television they had on in the corner. The news was on and I watched it as I sipped my soda.

I saw a report on Superman's appearance and nearly spit out my soda. A shakily recorded video of a black blur sprinting up the side of a building to rescue a baby was on and then the video showed Superman grabbing me from mid-air as I fell. The video ended and went back to the talk show host.

"We're here with meta-human expert Dr. Shannon," said a British reporter in a deep, charismatic voice. The camera panned out to show a beautiful, African woman with dozens of long braids.

"Doctor Shannon, would you give us you take on this?" asked the reporter.

"Well, the boy, or girl, (It's hard to tell from the video) clearly has super speed, and the way this person jumped from the building when the flames made it hard to run down the side indicates super endurance as well. You don't typically see someone make a jump like that confidently unless they can land without getting hurt."

"And just how fast would you say he can go?"

I started as a plate was set down in front of me.

"Anything else I can get you, kid?" asked the waiter.

"No, thank you," I said quietly.

"You alright?" asked the waiter.

"Yes, thanks," I said, taking a bite of my food so that he would go away.

He took the hint and left and I turned my attention back to the news.

"He doesn't really have a costume, it's a bit hard to see in the video but reports say he was just wearing black clothing and a pair of goggles. This suggests that he's not affiliated with any member of the Justice League."

"Because the Justice League has nicer costumes?" asked the news host.

"It may sound silly, but if he were with the League he would have been wearing something more suited to his powers."

"But what about the people who said that they heard Superman tell the child to stay where they were after the rescue?"

"Well, this is purely speculation, but it's possible that Superman wanted to see what the child was doing there by themself. Of course, we won't know until Superman makes a statement on the matter."

"I'm sure Lois Lane will get right on that," said the newscaster with a smirk. The audience laughed and a new topic was brought up.

I nearly beat my head against the table wondering who on _earth_ would see a fire in their neighborhood and use their cellphone to videotape it rather than call emergency services.

_I hate this_. I thought. _I really, really, hate this._

I finished my pie, and waited for the bill.

"Breaking news!"

My head shot up.

_What now?_

"What's going on there Laura?"

"Right now I am in Paris, by the Eiffel tower. As you can see behind me we are under attack by what appears to be a giant robot."

The camera panned to flaming buildings, screaming, civilians and shouting police officers.

Then it zoomed in on an honest-to-goodness GIANT robot. It was a monstrosity about twenty feet tall with a dense force field around it

"Papa! Où est papa?!" I heard a girl screaming from off camera.

I felt a familiar determination set in.

"How's your food tast—"

"Great, I'm running a bit late though," I said to the waiter. "Here's the money, keep the change," I said handing the guy way more pounds than strictly necessary.

"Wait," said the waiter, "are you sure?"

"Yep, see you around."

I left the shop, ducked into and alley and changed clothes. I whipped out a map after that and tried to figure out which way I had to go to get to Paris. I found the direction, pulled out my compass, and ran.

It took me less than half an hour to reach Paris, even though I had to pause to check my direction every so often. When I arrived I listened carefully, and then I moved.

My first stop was car that was trapped beneath some rubble. A man was inside of it, talking frantically into his cell phone in French. The passenger's side was slowly caving in as a result of some fallen rock and her car was shoved up against the side of a bakery.

Thinking quickly, I ran inside and smashed out the shop window from the inside. Thinking fast and keeping an ear out for falling glass from the pane above I reached over to the car window as the guy turned to gape at me. Seeing the opening I'd created he rolled down his window and I helped him climb into the bakery. He had just made it through when his car was fired on by the robots.

I told the guy to run in English, as I didn't know a lick of French, and ran to the bakery counter and frantically ate half of what I could reach. It probably seemed like an odd thing to do, but cut me some slack I'd just run almost three hundred miles and I was about to go fight a giant robot.

I finished my feeding frenzy and was about to go outside when a silver _thing_ about the size of a man ran into the building wielding a gun. My eyes widened as two more followed. It took me a second to realize that they were miniature versions of the robot attacking outside.

The guy I'd saved was standing there in in shock as the robots turned to him. I dragged him behind the counter as the machines started firing before I leapt up onto the counter, taser in hand and attacked.

My taser downed the two robot's closest to me instantly and I smirked before knocking down the thirs. I was about to run out and look for more when the first robot I'd zapped started getting up.

_Crap._ I thought.

I ran over and rammed it with all the speed I could. I punched it repeatedly once it was down, crushing its head, though I wasn't sure its head was even what it ran on. I heard a click behind me and dodged a pair of the robot's I'd tasered fired on me. Their shots hit the robot I'd been fighting and I heard it power down. Deciding that would be my new strategy I stood between two robots, let them fire at me, and moved away at the last minute so that they shot each other. One went down, the other stayed up. I cursed tried a different strategy, I ran up to a robot as it was about to fire, grabbed its arm, and aimed it at its owner. The robot blasted its own head off but still continued to move.

_Man! Where is their weak spot?_

I grabbed a hunting knife from my bag and used it to jam the gun. The robot's arm exploded and I barely jumped back in time, shocked by the extreme result I'd gotten.

It collapsed and I sighed in relief before I realized that there were more outside. I ran outside and jammed another robot's gun, making it explode.

The darn thing was unable to shoot any more, so it ran at me instead.

I cursed. _What will it take to destroy these things?!_

_If only I had an EMP transmitter, that would take them down, at least, for a while. Yet again, that would take out any hospital equipment in the area too. People would die…_

I growled and kept fighting until something beautiful happened. One robot blew another's arm off clean at the shoulder leaving a fully functional gun.

I used the gun to shoot the robots, finding that if I hit them in two different places along the spine (once in the stomach and once in the neck) they stopped moving. Triumphantly I left the area near the shop with a pile of broken robots in my wake.

I heard as scream from down the street and I ran to the source, saving a girl around my age from a pair of the monsters. She was a bit heavy to carry but I got her to a place that was far enough from the fight, even though I had to drop the robot's arm to do it. I had just run back to the scene when I saw a green light above me. I looked up in awe as one of the Green Lanterns took out the two robots in mere seconds.

Deciding that I wasn't needed, I ran towards the center of the fight, where the robot was looming. It was twenty feet tall and terrifying. I tried not to look at it or the bodies on the ground as I ran, looking for people to swoop to safety. I found a whole group of them huddled in a bookstore, but I wasn't strong enough to carry any of them out so I held my ground and fought the three machines that were approaching them. I was doing a reasonable job using the strategies I'd picked up earlier in the fight until one got lucky and grabbed my arm. Its warm fingers squeezed and I felt my bones snap. I screamed and punched its head off but it still wouldn't let go. I screamed again as it squeezed harder and it lifted its gun hand to shoot me in the face.

My eyes watered as I grabbed the gun hand and did something my dad had always told me never to do. I vibrated against the metal.

Both of the hands that were in contact with me exploded and my hoodie caught fire. I tore off the cloth so I was left in just my tee shirt, goggles, cap, and jeans. I'd lost my backpack earlier when one of the robots grabbed it.

The remaining robot that had been attacking the bookstore turned to me and I lost patience. My arm was broken, and people were dying, and I had had enough. I took my good arm and vibrated it against a robot's chest, running away just as it exploded. I took the other two down in a similar fashion before I ran into the bookshop. My arm was hurting like crazy and I needed a sling.

The first thing I saw in the bookshop, other than frightened people, was a rack full of candy bars. I ate all of them as the citizens of Paris looked at me incredulously. I paused in my snack frenzy when I saw a woman with a dramatically long scarf.

"Can I have that?" I asked, pointing to it. The woman looked confused.

Remembering that I was in a French-speaking country I walked up to her, pointed at my bent-up arm and tugged at her scarf before pointing to myself.

"I want to make a sling," I said.

The person next to her must have understood English because he whispered something to her and her eyes gained understanding. She took off her scarf and beckoned me to her.

I knelt down and she helped me make a sling for my arm.

"Who are you?" asked the man who had translated for me.

"Long story," I said, mostly because I couldn't think of a name to give him off the top of my head.

The woman finished wrapping my arm and I said one of the few French words I knew, "Merci", to thank her and ran off again. My arm still hurt really badly but my adrenaline combined with the sling helped me keep it at bay as I moved on.

I passed Hawkgirl who was smacking away metal contraptions with her mace and ran towards where the robots all seemed to be convening on a skyscraper building. I eyed it for a moment and realized it was a hotel.

_Why are they attacking a hotel? _

I didn't have time to ponder this as I approached the place where Superman was fighting off a hoard of the machines. I assessed the situation using my hearing before running off to go help some people that were trapped in a collapsing building.

_Did a bomb go off? _I wondered as I ran inside. The stairways were blocked by falling debris and I could hear people panicking on the other side of the rubble. Knowing that I couldn't blow up all the rubble I went outside and ran up the side of the building. I nearly passed out when I crashed through the window on the third floor, because my arm got so jostled, but I brushed it off with the help of my adrenaline and ran into the staircase. I saw people huddled by the collapse on the second floor.

"Who here speaks English?" I asked.

The group turned to stare at me. There were two men, a woman, and a boy a couple years older than me.

"I do," said the woman who looked like she was the mother of the boy.

"Listen I need you all to move away from the wall. I'm going to blow part of it up so we can get out of here."

The woman gave me a look.

"Honey, that's a great idea but I don't think—"

I sighed and zipped up at super speed so I was right in front of her.

"Listen to me, I'm not your average kid. Move these people."

The woman blinked in shock before she started yelling out orders in French.

The people moved out of my way and I blew up a chunk of wall.

Once I had a big enough hole I lined everyone up to jump. They seemed hesitant but more chunks of the ceiling started coming down as something crashed into the building and they obliged. One of the civilians were hurt in the fall and I instructed the healthy citizens to help the man walk as I led the group away from the building. I used my ears to listen for any danger. I couldn't afford an attack with so many people out in the open. I managed to get them down the block with air support from Captain Marvel, who told us to get to the building at the end of the street and hide in the basement. I destroyed one robot as we hurried down the streets and ushered them into the hiding place.

"Aren't you coming?" asked the woman who spoke English as I turned to leave.

"No. Stay safe," I said and then I left. When I got back on the street I heard an enormous explosion and looked up. The league had gotten the force field around the robot down and Superman was tearing it apart with the help of Captain Marvel and Hawkgirl.

I looked at the group with awe as they destroyed the giant but was distracted by another scream. I ran towards the hotel the robot had been attacking and saw the Flash running around, moving civilians out of the building and onto the street, where police officers were leading them to safety. The source of the screaming was coming from inside of the hotel. I ran in and saw another blocked stairwell. I was thinking of what to do when the rubble was suddenly surrounded by green light and moved away.

Realizing that the League had things under control at this point I turned and darted out of the building. There was no doubt that at least one of the Leaguers had noticed me and I had to get out of there before they caught me.

I just on my way down the street when I heard someone running at an impossible speed from behind me. I sped up, cursing in my head because there was only one person who could run that fast and that was—

"Hi, there," said a cheerful man in a red costume as he ran up next to me at an easy pace.

I skidded to a stop there was no way I could out run Flash.

"How's it going?" he asked cheerfully as he slowed to a stop as well.

"Good," I said warily ignoring the voice in my head screaming that this was _Flash, _THE _Flash, _the guy I'd been idolizing since the age of four.

"You know, I saw you on the news last night," he said conversationally.

"Shouldn't you be rescuing people?" I asked timidly, wanting to leave.

This was the worst. I'd wanted to meet the Flash my whole life up until now, now I just wanted to get away. It's not that I don't like Flash anymore. I just know that some adults have a tendency to stick their noses where they don't belong and if Flash turns out to be one of those adults then I'm in trouble.

"My friends have that under control, don't worry. Besides, I wanted to meet you. It's not every day that I run into someone else with super speed."

I stared at him blankly, mostly because I was at war with my emotions at the moment.

"So what happened to your arm?" asked Flash, not letting my silence get to him.

"I sprained it," I said.

"Really? How?"

"I fell," I lied.

"Do you mind if I look at it?" he asked, coming closer.

"Yes, I do mind," I said, taking a step back.

Flash frowned.

"Hey, it's okay, I won't hurt you," he said softly.

I took another step back. I wanted to trust him, partly because my arm was hurting a _lot _but I couldn't do it. I couldn't let Flash get to me because the moment I trusted him he was in charge and I couldn't let him be in charge. I knew what was best for me and no well-meaning-yet-ignorant adult was going to take that away from me, not even the Flash.

"You should go help the civilians, I'm fine," I said.

"You don't look fine," said Flash. "In fact you look like your arm's hurting an awful lot."

"I'll have it looked at later," I said, standing up nice and tall.

"By who?" asked Flash.

"An _actual_ doctor," I lied emphasizing _actual_ because I highly doubted that the Flash was one. And even if he was he couldn't refute my point without risking his identity.

"You know, I could take you to a doctor. We have one for the league. She knows a lot about meta humans."

"I have my own doctor, thank you," I said wondering when the Flash would stop beating around the bush and get to what he was really trying to do.

"At least let me take you home then, I'm sure your parents are worried about you."

_Ah, there it is._

"They're not," I said and I instantly regretted it.

_Idiot, that's the wrong thing to say!_

"Why's that?" asked Flash, sounding all concerned.

I didn't say anything.

"Do they know about you running around like this?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Well then, it shouldn't be a problem if I go talk to them for a bit," he said.

"Mom says not to bring strangers home. In fact, I probably shouldn't be talking to you right now," I said.

"That's a really smart rule, but I'm sure your mom made an exception for police officers, right?"

I said nothing.

"Right," Flash continued, speaking for me. "Well, superheroes are kind of like police officers, except—"

"I have to go now," I said cutting him off, unimpressed by his point.

"What? But we're still talking!" said Flash clearly still trying to reason with me.

"You have no right to keep me here," I said, using a line I'd seen on television when people didn't want to be interrogated.

"That's true," admitted Flash.

I turned, wondering what he was trying to do, and began to walk away. He followed me.

"You can't follow me, that's stalking," I said without turning around.

The Flash kept walking besides me, unperturbed.

"I'll tell the police you're stalking me," I threatened.

"You're welcome to, but you'll have to explain why you're running around dangerous areas all by yourself. They'll insist on calling your parents too, I promise you that."

I huffed in annoyance and turned to him.

"What do you want?" I demanded irritably. My adrenaline was wearing off and my arm was hurting so much that I wanted to lay down right where I was standing and close my eyes.

"I want to talk to whoever's in charge of you. It's dangerous for you to be running around by yourself."

"I'm fine though!" I insisted.

"Your arm isn't. And Batman has found a couple reports of boys right about your age who have gotten hurt in London only to escape medical attention and disappear. We have reason to believe that that boy is _you_, meaning you've been hurt before."

"That wasn't me," I said.

"Really? Because I don't know any other boys your age that would be capable of destroying their blood samples and erasing the video footage from the security cameras without getting caught. Well, I know one, but he lives in Gotham, not London."

I glared at Flash, wishing I weren't wearing goggles so that he could see.

"You think you know everything just because you're older than me, but my life isn't your business," I said.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but I'm going to have to disagree with you."

"Hey."

I heard a voice come from somewhere to the right, but I kept my eyes on Flash. The second he turned his head I bolted.

A green wall sprang up in front of me and I skidded to a stop. Then, suddenly a green disc formed below my feet, lifting me off the ground. The sudden shift in gravity made me fall backwards and I panicked for a second, prepping my super speed so I could shield myself, but I just ended up falling on my side as Green Lantern expanded the disc I was on. I almost threw up as I landed directly on my arm. It hurt so much that it took me a minute before I was even able to roll onto my back and gasp for breath.

"You okay?" asked the Flash. I looked around and saw that Hal had brought him up to our level on a different disc.

I realized through my haze of _Ouch_ that I was really high above the street.

"Put me down," I demanded, my eyes wide. I tried to sit up but my arm hurt too much so I ended up staying on my back, trying not to freak out.

I wasn't normally scared of heights, but being held mid air by what didn't appear to be more than a construct of light was extremely unnerving…Especially when you considered the fact that said construct was reliant on Green Lantern's concentration and will.

My arm throbbed again and I had to fight down another wave of vomit.

_Don't puke you need food_ in_ your stomach, not outside of it._

Green Lantern lowered me down to a roof and came to kneel in front of me.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Go away," I growled, though my head was starting to spin.

_Get a grip, Wally. You're not allowed to faint in front of two of the coolest people on the planet. It is simply _not _an option._

"He needs a doctor," said Flash. "We should take him to HQ."

"You take me anywhere and it's kidnapping!" I hissed.

"And if we leave you here it's child endangerment, I think the lesser of two evils is better, don't you?" he asked pleasantly.

I tried to sit up and argue, but instead of seeing Flash I saw stars. Those stars were the last thing I saw before my body decided that it was done cooperating.


End file.
